Morning ritual #smallstone 8

 

Morning ritual #smallstone 8

 

I burn sage, each morning.

The snap of the lighter brings tiny tongues of flame licking at the grey leaves in the shell; the brilliant orange leaps and darts from leaf to leaf, before turning to a smoulder. Leaves char and burn and threads of smoke rise as I look to the east, to the risen sun lost in rain clouds. Softly I fan the eagle feather across the shell, wafting the smoke around, cleansing and restoring and I let the words of prayer speak silently to the patient Listener. Words of love and entreaty, some of gratitude, some of reproach and despair; no words are barred.

The faint blue tinge of sage smoke spreads through the room, the pungent scent calming, and I feel a sense of being heard.

That has to be enough, some days.

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6 thoughts on “Morning ritual #smallstone 8

  1. I loved being taken through the ritual. I felt calmer at the end. I’ve been in the pit so yes, being heard, even a sense of it, can be enough. It’s whatever works. Thank you for the ritual.
    margo

  2. Smallstone returns to smallstone

    Burning sage….awakens the senses…smouldering sparks on mossy rock. Fresh charred smell wafting through clear air. Grey green soothing eyes. Nose buried in cat’s fur.

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